Dirge
by NoPerfectCircle
Summary: A slow, mournful musical composition. The coming into being of something; the origin. The act or process of gathering a crop. Dirge. Genesis. Harvest. Dean&Jo. AU.
1. I Dirge

**Author's note: **No spoilers. If you know Jo, you're safe. This is completely AU. It's a three parts fic with three different point of views. I'm uploading them all at once. Enjoy!

**Summary:**_Dirge. A slow, mournful musical composition._

**Disclaimer:** All characters belong to Eric Kripke and the CW.

Reviews are really nice :)

**DIRGE**

He is watching Sammy sleep when it happens the first time. It's something he can't fight. Something imposed upon him.

He's not sure of what it is. He wonders how such a thing is possible.

But when it comes back, again and again, he stops wondering how. He starts wondering why.

It's always the same thing.

Jo is there, she's smiling, and the next second, she's not. And Dean fucking knows too well what it means.

Two weeks after the first dream, Dean's tired and he just can't think straight anymore. He keeps thinking of Jo and he stops thinking of Sam, and he hates that. He hates Jo.

He thinks of calling her once or twice. There's even one time when he stays enough on the phone to hear her pick up. She calls his name but he hangs up.

He doesn't want to talk to her, doesn't care about her. He just wants to know that she's alive. And maybe the nightmare will stop.

But it doesn't. And every night, he sees more. It's all fucked up and confused and sometimes, he only sees details that don't matter and don't make a difference. He always sees what doesn't matter.

Sleeping is like living a second life, and no one likes that.

Dean's so tired now that Sam notices. If he hadn't noticed the first time he said Jo's name while talking to a random waitress in a random state of the country.

So now Sam knows, and he stays awake at night and he realizes that Dean's not sleeping like he should, not in the kind of baby sleep that Dean enjoys.

But Dean doesn't talk about it. Doesn't want to talk about it. He prefers to forget.

Dean dreams of Jo and Ellen now. At the Roadhouse. It happens there.

Jo's still smiling. And the next thing he knows, she's not. And he can't quite put his finger on it, but he thinks he knows how. He just doesn't believe it.

Jo invades his brain during the day, too, now, and he hates her more than he ever did before. If he was in the mood, he would joke about having a girl inside his brain for a week, but it's not funny. Not anymore.

It's been three weeks.

It's a stormy night when the other thing happens.

Dean's never been afraid of the storm before. Never been afraid of many things, except planes.

He doesn't want to sleep tonight and lingers for a Jo-less night. It's all he wishes for lately. But that fucking thing plays with his mind and when he doesn't sleep, he sees.

She's in the motel and she's smiling. Always that smile. He wants to smack her face and erase her smile. And the storm must play tricks because he's sure she's there. He's sure.

Except she's not.

Sam looks like he's ill. A fever takes hold of him. Dean is too good of a hunter not to connect everything. Sam's fever, Jo's apparition, his fucked up mind. He knows how. Now he really needs to know why.

The next day he tries to talk to Sam about what happened during the night, but Sam doesn't remember feeling ill. Not once, in a year. It doesn't make sense; except for Dean, it does.

Dean suggests they go and see Bobby. Sam wants to see Jo. Dean gets angry.

Dean Winchester never gets angry.

He hates her with a passion. He's come to a point where he wishes Jo Harvelle never existed. He wants to dream about girls, one night stands, sometimes about his mom and dad or if he has nightmares, he wants them to be about Sam. Only Sam. Not about her. She doesn't mean a thing, so why her?

Why him?

They fucked for a year. That's all. It was never serious. Just sex. Just something physical to fill the time and human needs that a lonely life deprives them of.

That's the only connection between the two of them.

Nothing more.

It's another stormy night, and Dean doesn't know what's best. Go to sleep or wait in silence. Both win the award of fucking up his mind.

Sam's usually the fucked up one. Dean likes to be normal.

He doesn't go to sleep and it happens again, this time livelier, more real. Sam's completely delirious now and Dean is scared shitless.

The storm is out there and Dean can't stand the sound, the lightening. It's all too much.

The next day, he's calling Jo. He's rude and cold and he tries to wonder what's up in her life. He learns that she's back at Ellen's for a while. So now he knows when. But he still doesn't know why.

And he still can't bring himself to believe it.

It may have been more than sex. He's not so sure anymore.

It's been a month.

He doesn't talk about it, doesn't think about it and in the end, he doesn't really care about why anymore. And at one point, one night, he thinks his mind has decided to give up on his sanity because he doesn't dream of her. If he doesn't dream, then it must mean he's crazy. Normalcy has been Jo Harvelle those last weeks.

But this night, he doesn't see her smile anymore and though the night is stormy, Sam is perfectly fine and no Jo appears in the room.

Dean sleeps like a baby again. Everything feels fine.

Maybe he was wrong on how, why, when.

The next day, when he receives a phone call from Ellen, he knows he screwed it, even before she says the words. He wonders if this how Sam felt before it happened to Jess.

Not believing.

Pretending it was nothing.

Dean knows that he's a good hunter, that he should have known better. He can't bring himself to wonder how he went to care so little.

He's not broken up when it happens. You can't care much when you're a hunter.

He can't let himself care too much. Loved ones die all the time.

He can't care much as a hunter.

That night, after Ellen's phone call, when he dreams about her, it's not a nightmare of how, why, and when. It's a nightmare of what he didn't do.

She's there. She's smiling and the next second she's not. Dean knows that by heart and he also knows too well why this time he's here and why there's blood on his hands.

One word writes itself on the wall and he wonders if he'll ever be able to wash it away like he did hundred times before.

It's something he's familiar with but when he thinks of that night when the storm is raging and he doesn't want to believe, just wants to sleep, not caring what could happen to her, when he thinks this is the night when it really happened, Dean can feel it sink under his skin.

Guilt.


	2. II Genesis

**Author's note: **No spoilers. If you know Jo, you're safe. This is completely AU. It's a three parts fic with three different point of views. I'm uploading them all at once. Enjoy!

**Summary:**_Genesis. The coming into being of something; the origin._

**Disclaimer:** All characters belong to Eric Kripke and the CW.

Reviews are really nice 

**GENESIS**

It's 8 AM and Jo's cell phone rings. She worked late and wonders who in his right mind could wake her up knowing the job she has.

She looks at the ID and she sees Dean Winchester appear. She doesn't know why she kept Dean's number all this time, or why he calls her, but she answers anyway.

He says nothing on the line but she knows it's him because she hears his heavy breathe. It almost feels good.

She calls his name and tries not to tremble too much doing so. He hangs up.

Everything is normal in the world of Dean Winchester and Jo Harvelle.

His phone call brings back the memories. Memories she prefers to forget. Their first kiss, their first night. Their first mistake.

Don't fall in love.

The one rule.

She's awake at night and she thinks of him. What he's doing. What he's hunting. He never calls. Sometimes asks Ash. She knows because Ash tells her everything. He must know that Ash tells her.

She doesn't care though. Didn't care since the day they decided they cared too much.

Funny thing, the world of Dean Winchester and Jo Harvelle.

The days go on and she still thinks of him. His calls are rare enough to be an event and events always make her very thoughtful.

Or maybe it's something else.

She looks at the sleeping form in the bed.

Maybe it's something else.

She remembers the first time they crossed the line. They were in bed. They had made love.

Twice.

Everything was perfect.

He was coming back from a difficult hunt and he needed to be rough, harsh. He could be that with her. But as he made love to her, it surprised her that he was the one to cross it. The goddamn line.

"God, I love you, Jo"

5 simple words.

He had said nothing more and had continued to make love to her and she had said nothing either.

They had fucked harder, faster, more eagerly than ever before. To erase the love, the care. The despair that came with the care. The despair that came with the need.

It was physical. Nothing else.

He never came back after that night. He had broken a rule. A sacred rule. Don't fall in love.

She couldn't be mad at him. That was Dean Winchester's way, and she loved Dean Winchester, so she had accepted all his rules.

She had accepted that it ended when it should have begun.

You can't care much when you're a hunter.

She's been feeling quite down the last week and she doesn't know if it's because of him.

Or maybe it's something else.

Anyhow, she looks at the sleeping form in the bed, decides to go to her mom, and packs her things.

It's been two weeks since the first time and he calls her again. This time, he speaks. She hasn't heard his voice in over 14 months.

She knows the exact date. There's always something to remind her of the days passing by.

He's quite ruthless and she senses that something is wrong but she doesn't ask about it. She was always able to sense his mood but she never asked. She never asked for much.

He asks her where she is and she doesn't even think for a second that he's going to see her. She tells him she's at the Roadhouse and he says fine. He's cold when he says that. He's never been colder.

Days at the Roadhouse are loud and busy. She gives a hand to her mom at the bar and she feels fine with it because she knows she has something to go back to, wherever she goes.

It's been two days since he called and she still thinks about him. She wonders what he's doing. If he's thinking of her.

She doesn't want to be loved. She just wants to feel loved.

_His hands move on her body like a territory that he knows by heart. She knows where he likes her to kiss, to bite. He knows what to do to turn her on. Their bodies are so familiar that one touch… one touch is enough to light the fire._

_Things have never been cold between Jo Harvelle and Dean Winchester._

Except since that phone call.

When it happens, she doesn't see it coming. She hears the cries of David and goes to see what's happening. She sees someone and gets scared.

Since David arrived in her life, she has stopped hunting. She has also stopped taking precautions from the evil that lies within.

She doesn't bring anything with her, no gun, no holy water. She feels defenseless. All she knows then is that she's been drawn to the wall and then to the ceiling.

She remembers everything too well, too fast.

Dean and Sam. David.

She remembers the reason why Dean could never stand to care for her too much.

His mother. His fear of losing her like he lost his mother.

She remembers the date.

Her - their - son's sixth month birthday.

And here she is on the ceiling, helpless, while her stomach is being cut open.

And all she wonders before turning to flames is what if. What if she had told Dean that the last time they had made love there had been an unexpected consequence?

Maybe, then maybe, he would have known.

Maybe then, he would have come to protect her.


	3. III Harvest

**Author's note: **No spoilers. If you know Jo, you're safe. This is completely AU. It's a three parts fic with three different point of views. I'm uploading them all at once. Enjoy!

**Summary:**_Harvest. _ _The act or process of gathering a crop.._

**Disclaimer:** All characters belong to Eric Kripke and the CW.

Reviews are really nice 

HARVEST

The bar is closed. She doesn't expect any visitors today.

So when she hears the familiar cringe of the door, she turns around, curious, unaware.  
Somehow innocent.

Then she sees him. And all the innocence is gone.

She remembers the last time she called him. It was four days ago. The sun was bright and shiny. Days are always sunny when your life collapses.

He never mentioned he would come. But then, he never mentioned doing her daughter either.

She doesn't want to blame the Winchesters, but they make it hard on her. John didn't kill her Bill and Dean didn't kill her Jo, but really, she can't help to think that they all have a part in this.

She really doesn't want to blame him. It's not his fault.

Except, somehow it is.

He lacks something. Lacks something compared to the last time she saw him. He walks towards the bar, towards her, but something's off and she can't quite put her finger on it.

She doesn't know why she cares about that right now. Doesn't know why she would. It just seems that she needs to know him, needs to understand him.

Needs to understand where it hurts, to understand where to hit.

"I didn't expect you there," she says coolly or coldly, she doesn't really know how, but she knows it doesn't sound inviting.

He smiles softly. Not in a cocky way, not in a confident way. It's a smile that says it all, says all the weariness of these last days. She could pity him. She could, really. She just doesn't want to.

"Come on, Ellen," he says softly, "it was Jo."

And that should be an explanation in itself, but Dean Winchester's never been good at explaining.

Jo could understand him. Ellen never knew how she did, but she could. It didn't save her though.

Sam is with him but doesn't say a word. Ellen suspects something.  
Sam has always been more readable than Dean and if there's one way to know if something's wrong with Dean, it's by seeing if Sam feels wrong. And right now, he does.

They sit at the bar and she gets them a drink. Always running her bar, even through it all.

The scene reminds her of another time, another world, another lifeline. But two things are missing and one thing shouldn't be here.

"What are you doing here, boys?" Ellen asks.

Sam is the one to talk. "We wanted to be there, Ellen. We wanted to be there for Jo."

Ellen's jaw clenches and she puts the glass she held down because she's afraid she might break it

"We wanted to know how you were doing."

She looks up but she looks at Dean. Only at Dean. "How do you think I'm doing?"

She lost her only child. How do they think she's doing?

"You think it's my fault?"

Now it's Dean's turn to talk. It's his third beer. She thought he would hold it all a little more, but he must be tired. Looks tired, like he hadn't slept in weeks.

"She was pinned to the ceiling," Ellen answers. "You do the math."

Dean says nothing but nods. He falls in silence again. And she can't say she remembers a time where he's been so silent.

And then, she knows what it is that he's missing. Strength. Strength to put up with things, to put up with people.

"Is there anything I should know?" she asks.

He says nothing but stares at his drink. Sam looks at him. Dean looks up at Ellen, blank.

"Is there anything I should know?" he asks.

Ellen never blamed Jo for falling in love with Dean. Never blamed her for sleeping with him either.

And when Dean left, Ellen was sorry for her daughter. Really sorry. She never knew what had happened. Never knew much. Just knew he had left. And knew Jo was pregnant.

Ellen didn't want Dean to know, advised against it. _Better raise your boy by yourself rather than give him a soon to be dead father_. And Jo actually listened.

Ellen never wanted Dean to know. Never.

_"Is there anything I should know about?"_

The words she never wanted to hear him say. Ellen says nothing and in a second, she wonders. Wonders how, wonders if, wonders why, wonders so many things; it's like seeing a lifetime of possibilities and not having time to seize one.

Dean looks down and probably takes her silence for a no. He doesn't know and it could stay that way.

So easy.

"Stay here," she says and she leaves the room before Dean and Sam have time to say anything or reply. It's an impulse and one word can break that impulse. It's now or never. Literally.

When she comes back to them, she's not alone. She's carrying something, someone, and the look on Dean's face is indescribable. She doesn't see Sam and actually doesn't care about him. It's all about Dean, really.

She walks towards him and he gets on his feet, clumsily. This is the second time in her life that she sees a Winchester being so vulnerable. First time was when she learned her Bill would never come back.

"Is this… is… it's…"

Dean can't say the words. Ellen even wonders if he understood. He doesn't seem the type to understand those kinds of things.

But as he stares in David's eyes, Ellen knows he knows. Men might not understand those things, but they feel them.

She sees Sam's hand on Dean's arm, trying to help his brother hold it all back.

Ellen knows she should speak, say a few things, explain a few things. Tell stories about Jo's pregnancy, tell the baby's name, his age, funny things that he makes when he's angry or when he's happy, but she really can't.

Ellen has seen lots of women give birth. But what had always amazed her was not the way the baby would come out of a woman's body and cry because of his first breath on earth. It wasn't the tears of joy on a woman's face.

It was the father's eyes, this crack that happened in a man when he saw his child for the first time.

There's something magical, unique and unreadable that happens then.

It happened between Bill and Jo. It happens between David and Dean now. And it's so magical that Ellen doesn't feel like she can't take that away from Dean.

David seems to understand too. He's poking at Dean's cheek more than he usually does with Ellen. His little fingers, so rounded, so tiny, try to catch Dean's hair, and when they can't, they just linger on his cheek. He's so small.

Dean caresses his little hands with his long and callused fingers. Something's happening there that's beyond Ellen's control.

He doesn't say a thing and when Ellen takes David back to his –temporary- nursery, Dean still doesn't say a thing. Just watches his hands like he can still picture David's fingers playing with his.

"Who called him David?"

"Jo did. She said that David Harvelle Winchester sounded great for a hunter."

Dean smiles, nods, and looks down.

He has a son. Jo gave him a son.

It's like reaching both the yin and the yang, after such bliss. Dean looks hollow, thoughtful. It's still Jo's funeral and Ellen wonders what he's thinking about. Jo? David? Maybe both? And she wishes she could ask, but something holds her back. She'd prefer if Dean just spoke. It'd be easier.

But Dean doesn't, because the guilt he carries with him is too much to handle. Ellen can almost see it like a wide trail that follows his every step.

Jo's day is over now. Funerals last for the time coffins are put back to earth. Once the funeral's over, everyone goes back to their doings. But the Winchesters stay there, waiting, and Ellen knows too well why.

"Ellen," Dean whispers, not saying much more, probably not knowing what to say either.

But she doesn't give him time to think of something and she rushes to him, opening her arms and holding him as she cries her heart out. She hates Dean Winchester as much as she loves him. Feeling him in her arms is a way of feeling her daughter.

Dean hugs her back. He's never been good at that, hugging, crying shoulders and prefers to joke about it usually. Today, he just can't. "I'm so sorry, Ellen," he whispers in her ear. "So sorry."

She doesn't answer, doesn't want to let go, because it feels like holding Jo in her arms, but at one point, she has to let go and when she steps back and watches Dean's eyes, she sees Jo.

The feeling hurts.

"David needs a place to stay," she says then.

And Dean nods. He doesn't want his son to have the life he did. He wants him to have a choice.

"You'll come and see him as much as you want?" she continues.

And Dean agrees, because that's really the best thing there is to do.

He looks at the baby in Sam's arms. Ellen catches his glance. John Winchester had always been a good father, not a perfect one, but he had loved his sons more than anything. Ellen feels the same vibe about Dean.

Sam and Dean look at him for a moment but there comes a time where they have to hit the road, because that's what they always do. And as Dean starts to leave the Roadhouse and as Sam puts David back in her arms, Ellen can't help but ask.

"Did you love her?" the old woman asks.

Tears are being held back.

She knows Dean could lie, could say anything to make her feel better, that's what he always does with people. But he won't today. She knows he won't today.

Dean sighs and she sees a familiar clenching in his jaw, the same clenching someone does when he's been hit right in the heart. And finally, maybe finally, Ellen understands where to hit to hurt Dean Winchester.

Maybe she understands him a little more.

His eyes are intense, and sad. And it hurts her to look at him.

"She was the only one," he answers, like it should be an explanation in itself, but this time, Ellen feels like it's enough.

She nods and he smiles back. Not a cocky smile, not a confident one. A smile that says it all.

She hears the door being closed and turns to little David throwing his fists in her arms, crying.

She wipes away a tear from her face and smiles sadly, slightly, but still, she smiles. A smile that says it all.

"My little boy, you have two hell of parents, you know that?"


End file.
